Your Monthly Momecdote, Issue 20: December, 2025

This blog post was originally published in my December monthly newsletter. Subscribe to receive next month's essay along with book and music recommendations.

Sometimes I love something so much that I can't stop myself from bringing it up, but then I have the Emma sensation where if I loved the thing less then maybe I could talk about it more. This month, that thing is this: how much more welcoming the UK is to children than the vast majority of the US.

My son joined me last month for my UK tour, and I have to say, I have really done well for myself in terms of creating the ideal travel companion. Even before I got pregnant, I was really set on being a mother the way that one Italian senator who brought her daughter to work through every stage of her life is a mother, and while it was often very difficult and I still occasionally require someone's help, four-and-some-change years later, it is gradually paying off. For example, as I was having dinner with my son in the LAX international terminal, I had the sudden realization that 1) I was happy, comfortable, and enjoying myself despite the long waiting period prior to an international flight, and 2) damn, it feels incredibly chic to sit down to dinner with a well behaved child. (I know I'm reaching for about a hundred disparate points at once here, but one final digression before I get back to my original point: I know that many aspects of what I have written may put people off motherhood, but the real, honest truth is that basically anything ever written about motherhood will put you off motherhood. So, as a necessary reminder, I do really enjoy it, and the frequency of little dinner dates and tea parties I had with my son on this trip are a small but aesthetically pleasing sample as to why.)

Anyway, I took my son to the UK with me, and the first thing I noticed was that regardless of how posh the restaurant was (or, at any rate, how posh I perceived it to be), there was almost always a child's menu and some coloring implements. Not only that, but the air of how I was received as the parent of a young child was totally different. Almost everyone engaged warmly and directly with both me and my son, greeting him just as they greeted me, and making conversation with him at various intervals. Conversely, most people that fall into the "onlooker" category ignored me—and I mean that as a good thing. I'd never noticed until after this tour how many looks I normally get in restaurants, like I should have left my kid at home where he belongs. I think it's particularly hard for mothers, especially any school of parenting like gentle parenting that often requires mothers to be at home with the kids. If our children are social aberrations, then what, exactly, are we?

I will clarify again that these are generalizations, not firm truths, but the overall vibe wherever I went in the UK made me want to... cry with relief? Or some similar catharsis? Look, I'm not saying the UK is a perfect country or that all children are equally welcome under every scenario (I think we can all agree this is a cruel and stupid time for immigration policy and asylum seekers in both the countries I'm discussing). All I'm saying is that to my observation, I found there was more of a social and cultural infrastructure in the cities I visited in the UK that I considered beneficial for both parents and children. Not only was my son more engaged and welcome, I felt more welcome as well, and it made me feel it was acceptable for me to be part of the world in this way, which I only realized in retrospect is something I don't really feel at home.

I also started to notice that the more welcome the children were, the better behaved they were. Again, these are massive generalizations, but the children I encountered while traveling were usually playing with toys, talking, or coloring when they were at restaurants or in public places with their parents. By contrast, most kids in an American restaurant are likely to be watching or playing with an iPad. Does this produce worse behavior, I wonder? It seems like it. Shortly after returning from our travels, my son joined us on date night in a restaurant where all the kids nearby seemed to be having a breakdown. The iPad was incredibly noisy, the kids were screaming and making daring escapes, and I thought again about the relationship between whether the child is welcome in any given space and how they ultimately occupy that space. These kids, for example—they seemed to be dressed up and part of a large party, so maybe it was a special occasion. Did they maybe not have prior experience in restaurants, where they perhaps only go for special occasions? Was that part of it? Impossible to say.

I can't remember if I've mentioned this here before, but: a long time ago, like a decade ago, I took my then-boyfriend out to dinner at a restaurant and the only other people in the restaurant were Tia and Tamara Mowry and their children. Yes, Tia and Tamara as in Sister, Sister, I show I fucking loved as a kid. I digress. Anyway, Tia and Tamara's children had their iPads out and were playing an annoying, shrill kids show in the middle of this otherwise silent restaurant, and I think I shot over a look at some point (when I'm annoyed, it is impossible for my face to mask it) because one of them somewhat snarkily, somewhat understandably said, "She'll understand one day." And now, of course, here I am, a mother, and yes, sometimes a mother who resorts to screens. I've put a movie on for my kid in a restaurant before—that's certainly not what I'm judging. I'm certainly embarrassed for myself in retrospect. But was she really in the right? Do I understand it? Not really. Did it have to be so loud?

More and more, I think about the role of community when it comes to raising children. I think the context our children exist in matters—it has to matter. It's not that I can't forgive a mother doing what she needs to do to get through dinner. It's that I'm not sure it ever makes sense to pretend you exist on an island, or that there isn't more we can all do to make the world easier to occupy for everyone. I think it sucks that so many people take the attitude that you shouldn't bring your child to places where children don't belong. Of course there are places that aren't designed for children. But what does it mean for the community at large if children exclusively belong in child-spaces? Does that mean all parents are outcasts until their children are grown? And what about the children themselves? If they never learn to be part of the community, how will they ever expect to be? How will they know how to contribute to it, or to value it? If they don't learn to handle themselves appropriately over time, what happens to public spaces? Or to the way we all coexist?

I'm so happy that I was able to take this trip with my son. I love his company, I really do. I love that he wants to dance whenever a musician is playing in a public square. I love that he notices places and things that are beautiful and points them out for me to see, too. Not a single Christmas tree went unappreciated, I'll tell you that much. If anything I've ever written has put you off motherhood, then take this as evidence that it was all worth doing, and I feel happy most of the time that I spend with my son. It just also makes me wonder: how much better would all of this be if we could change it just a little? If there's a world where we can all enjoy each other's company like this—not to mention one so wildly close to this one—what would it take? And what wouldn't it be worth?